


Apologies

by snack_size



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Murder House, Post-Canon, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:51:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snack_size/pseuds/snack_size
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is a little sorry they let the house get under their skin - well, except for Hayden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therumjournals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therumjournals/gifts).



For their second date, Patrick bought tickets for the Eternal Darkness tour. It was just right, in Chad’s estimation, a little cheesy, but right on the mark. Chad smiled at him, maybe too coy, and said, “Really - how did you know I like-”

“You mentioned something about a trip to Quebec City and a ghost tour,” Patrick said, with a shrug. “Plus, you know, the historical stuff...”

This was the guy that Chad had nearly written off because he’d warn a zip hoodie to their first date at the wine bar Chad had suggested and hadn’t known Malbec from Merlot. The conversation had been fine - he was nice, he was funny enough - but Chad instantly assessed him as _that_ gay guy from the gym. Still, he had actually agreed to meet for a date at a reasonable time, instead of just suggesting some time and place that was just a cover for a one night fuck. 

Chad’s sister set them up. Patrick was the brother of a co-worker or friend or something, and she had met him at a house party. 

“So you thought, he’s gay, and my brother’s gay, of course they’ll like each other?” Chad asked her, after she suggested that he agree to the blind datek. 

Natalie pursed her lips, then took a sip of her coffee. “Oh, come on, Patrick. He’s tall, he’s blonde. If anything, he’ll be nice to look at.” 

Chad had another glass of wine at home, after the date, before calling her - she had called twice already that evening. “Thank you, Nat, but he’s just not...” 

“He’s your type.” Chad huffed, conceding - she did get points for setting him up with America’s poor imitation Alexander Skarsgaard. “And don’t even start with me, Chad. So he’s an EMT, not some pseudo-intellectual asshole that’s going to argue with your interpretation of Foucault or whether Mad Men’s decor is _that_ historically accurate?” 

“I don’t think it’s wrong to want to date someone I can have a conversation with-” Now that a bachelors degree was more and more like a high school diploma, Chad liked to screen for Master’s degrees. He gave bonuses for the obscure and esoteric - Folklore, Rural Sociology. It took either real balls, plenty of family money or abject stupidity to commit to something like that. The first two were desirable, the later at least led to an interesting disaster of a date. And those fields of study actually made his degree in Historical Preservation seem useful. 

“He said he liked you,” she replied. “Did I mention he has a lot of money, family money - don’t even, Chad, you keep dating the same type of guy. At least try something different. Let him take you out.”

Chad agreed only to get leverage over his sister so he could subject her to something similar. This time Patrick arrived in jeans and a fitted t-shirt, looking a little bit like a puppy, and then indicating with the tickets that he had actually listened and had got Chad - at least, as best you could, from one conversation.

Two years later, and close enough to the anniversary of that second date that it seemed like portent to Chad, the house came up for sale. It had languished and bounced between owners for years after Tate Langdon was gunned down there, and the price was rock bottom. Chad made grabby hands at the real estate listing. 

Patrick had been happy to go and see the house, especially after they met Marcy and realized that she was completely oblivious to how they were laughing at her, rather than with her. Patrick seemed to have even more fun with her when it became clear that she was just trying to portray the attitude that she was OK with the gay. 

“We should buy it,” Chad said, when the tour was over and Marcy left them in the kitchen. He could see it, restored, original fixtures-

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t let us go too far into the basement because there are dead animals down there - probably live animals, a whole family, it certainly smelled like it. And those paintings are serious nightmare fuel-”

“Well, they’re a little Dante via Bosch, but that’s what wallpaper is for. There is so much opportunity for something...for someone who really knows what to do.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment and imagining the restored Tiffany glass. “It’s a perfect flip, not only do people want restorations, but it’s the Murder House...it’s a proper noun.” 

“It’s a huge project.” 

Chad kissed him, then smiled. “Think of how much fun it will be. You’ll get to use your hammer, smash some things...” Patrick leaned down and nuzzled into him, then squeezed his ass. 

Two years after that, Chad was sort of drowned in an apple bobbing station, had his neck sort of snapped, and then spent his last moments grasping towards Patrick before he was shot. By a ghost, in a rubber suit - which he had bought to spice up his dismal sex life. 

Did it mean something? Probably not, but what else was there to do besides ruminate? He had time - all the time! - for taking up knitting, learning another language, trying to sort out what, exactly, had led him to that point. Had drawn him here and decided to keep him here - dead, and, worse than dead, stuck in a house with a bunch of other obnoxious dead people and his adulterous boyfriend/ex-boyfriend/whatever he was, now. What he had been for a long time and what Chad had refused to see. 

It was enough, to have a revelation about the quality time you were going to have with your significant other for eternity, without being stuck in a house with a dead couple that had somehow managed to resolve all of their issues by dying, either while birthing the anti-Christ or getting hung from the chandelier by their ex-mistress. 

It was the Christmas tree that put him over the edge. He loved Halloween, but he had deeper feelings for Christmas - frosting cookies with his mother and sister, the real Christmas trees they would cut down themselves, Normal Rockwell’s wet dream, really. It was times like these he wished Dr. Harmon had kept some samples around so he could have some Ativan with his wine. 

“Um, hey.” 

He glanced up from his glass of wine and sighed. The Happy Couple’s daughter, who, like her parents, had risen like a Phoenix from the Angst. 

“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about trying to banish you, and all that.”

Chad waved his hand. “Whatever. Planned on stealing and murdering your mothers babies. Probably deserved it.” 

“Uh.” Violet stared at him from behind a curtain of hair. She brushed some out of her face. She probably would have been stunning, a good amalgam of her mother and father. At least she had other things to be depressed about besides being permanently stuck in an awkward stage.

“What? Aren’t you used to these types of conversations? What the fuck did you talk about with Baby Bundy, anyway?” There wasn’t any curiosity behind the question. He could imagine - he had been an outcast teenager. A theatre outcast, though, not a murdering psychopath. Tate Langdon, the first of the high school shooters. The boy who inspired a generation. 

“Look, I didn’t know he killed you.”

Violet said.

“You didn’t know a lot of things,” Chad said. 

“No, I didn’t. Look, I’ll leave you to it, OK?” she raised her hands up. Chad rolled his eyes and went back to his wine. When he looked up, she was gone, and he was alone.

When he didn’t pay attention, time passed in a manner he couldn’t discern - especially when the house was empty. And, given the efforts of the Harmon’s and their Merry Men, it was going to remain that way for some time. Good for them, he supposed, but he had liked it when they had moved in. When anyone moved in. It was like having television again. 

There were days, weeks that he lost - like he could just wish them away, but he would always come back. “We’re tied here,” Moira said, “by our death. How, I know not.” 

“Well, la-te-frickin-da,” Chad said, and Moira pursed her lips at the hint of swearing - it was hard to imagine her fucking someone, even if she thought her job depended on it. But he also had a hard time imagining that a woman who looked like had no idea how she appeared to others. 

“You should look contrite. Some might...allow such language, but madam-”

“Just because she owns the house doesn’t mean she owns you,” he replied. 

Moira laughed, but it was a strangled sound that soon transitioned into a choked sob. “They do, though, don’t they? I’m right out there, on their property.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and reached and took her hand. She didn’t pull it away and gave him a soft smile. 

“I should have...tried to help,” she said. “But it was so raw, then, between madam and then those little girls...” She shuddered. "Then, when that boy...that's why the Harmons moved in I knew I had to try..."

“It’s not your fault,” Chad said. “We didn’t see any of it, did we? Not until the end. We were too busy tearing up the floorboards.” He sighed. 

“It will always pull us back,” Moira said. “Sometimes I wonder what might happen if someone tears it down - but they won’t, will they? Everything that’s been done here, it ensures that it will stand.” 

Chad sighed, remembering how he had first run his hands along some of the woodwork - original to the house! - how he had nearly died when he saw the space they had to restore the master bath, not to mention the bay window in the master. “So what do you do?” 

Moira gave him a wry smile, as though he was supposed to be smarter than that, and then she turned and was gone. Chad sighed.

Since that afternoon in the nursery, since Chad had heard what Patrick had shouted at that repugnant little shit, he hadn’t seen Patrick. Before, he could find him - sometimes even if Patrick didn’t want to be found. But Patrick seemed to have found a way to separate them. Could you tell someone to go away without seeing them? Or did Chad just not remember, just like Nora couldn’t remember her death half the time... 

“Looks like you could use a friend.” Her slender hand trailed along his shoulder, delicate, and up his neck. An invitation for more than just friendship. Chad shrugged her off, and when Hayden didn’t get the hint, he whirled and grabbed her wrist and held it. 

“Looks like you could use some eye makeup remover,” he said. 

“Oh, sassy.” 

“That works,” he replied. “Because that’s about how dated your look is.”

Hayden looked legitimately confused - it was easy to forget how much younger she was, both in terms of how much difference would be between them if he had lived and the age that she had died it.

Chad sighed, and reached for his glass of wine. It seemed to always be there - and had it really been that much of a constant in his life? No, he assured himself. Vivien could conjure a cello, and she hadn’t even moved in with one. 

“As much as my social circle is limited, these days, I’m definitely not offering my services as gay BFF to someone as fucked up as you,” Chad said.

Hayden seemed legitimately offended by this, despite the amount of times Harmon had yelled it at her in just the same fashion. Maybe she took it as foreplay. “Is this because I killed him?”

“Uh-huh,” Chad said, raising his eyebrows and nodding. 

“If I was going to be stuck here, I wanted him to have to be too,” she replied. She was facing him, now, standing while he was seated so that she had a few inches on him. 

“Funny how that works out,” Chad replied. 

Hayden narrowed his eyes at him - and really, for someone studying at Harvard, she was not all that bright. It was money, Chad assumed, there had to have been boarding schools and money and plenty of people telling her how smart and pretty and special she was. 

“They’ve done studies, haven’t they, about how many psychopaths actually wind up in psychiatry? Though one wonders about their veracity, given that the studies were done by psychiatrists-”

“You really think I’m psycho?” She asked. She leaned in - and all it did was reaffirm his belief, because he was able to get a good look at the crazy in her eyes. “I’m not psycho - that little monster is psycho, he shot an entire school-”

“How far along were you into your psychology degree? You should know the diagnosis doesn’t depend on action-”

“Like you would know.”

“I seem to know more than you do from my one undergrad course.” Hayden rolled her eyes at him. 

“Where - let me guess, some California State university where you-”

“Pomona, bitch,” Chad said. 

“Such language,” Hayden replied. “I can feel it, you know, you have it - just like I do, all that rage, all those desires...you want to hurt people to make it better, and you could do some real damage...look what I did. Put the nail in that coffin-”

“Except look at them now,” Chad said, and Hayden scowled. “Look, if you’re trying to recruit someone else to help you execute your...plans,” he waved his hand in a dismissive way, “I’m not your man. Nora’s half gone, it’s the only way you got her involved...well, and because you were plotting for her baby.”

“It was her desire for a baby that got you killed.” 

Chad cocked his head, acknowledging the point. “Maybe. Or maybe it was just Tate that got me killed. You’re not any better than him.” He wished he could say the words, but they had to have real power and emotion behind them - not just him expressing a minor annoyance. Just like Harry Potter. 

“Fine,” Hayden said. “But I don’t see anyone else really wanting to talk to you. We’ll see how you feel.” 

Strange, Chad thought when he finished his wine - was she here all the time, always present? It made sense, if the eight hundred line psychic was correct. Her rage provided a lot more nutrition for this place than his did. 

Later, the baby was crying - again, days, weeks? Maybe even a month? It was hard to judge, in California, and this was why it was better to have someone in the house. Now, what was there to gauge on? Halloween. 

Chad sighed, and found himself in an empty room. The house was too big, too open, the flaws too obvious when there wasn’t any furniture in it. There were too many things left to do, things he never had the chance to do, and things that the Harmons had probably never thought to do. 

“I know, I know. The finish.”

He turned and quirked a smile at Vivien - without the baby, but she couldn’t be blamed for that, after he had admitted his plot to kidnap and then smother her children. “Not too mention the fact that you pulled the wallpaper off that mural off and then didn’t have the decency to cover it back up. That thing makes my skin crawl - you know she painted it?” 

“Mmm. No.” Vivien said, frowning, and Chad mentally chastised himself. Even if he hadn’t been fully conscious, he knew it had been a long time since he had talked with someone else. And now, here was his first opportunity and he brought up the baby that had actually been kidnapped. “It does make sense, though.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Chad said.

“It’s fine,” Vivien replied, and she sat down on one of the windowsills and elegantly crossed her legs. “I don’t know why, I just felt this compulsion...” 

“Yeah, well, someone around here has some serious Mommy issues,” Chad said. She had said it was alright, right? Patrick was always chiding him on how he didn’t know his boundaries. Not that Patrick really cared anymore. 

“Well,” Vivien said. “I just thought I would-”

“No, I mean, oh, I don’t know,” said Chad. He ran his hand through his hair and smiled at her. “I was really horrible to you, when we met.” 

“I understand,” Vivien said. “There are certain things, we each have...” 

Chad cocked his head at her. He knew where Vivien would be, her first Halloween. Not that it would do any good. 

“That woman is batshit insane,” he said.  
“I thought so when I first met her. Did she come and-”

“Told us all about the house - well, except her dead son that lived inside of it - how it should look, where we should put the couch, how we should decorate...” he rolled his eyes. “And the same thing with the girl, of course, sneaking in...”

“She just wanted to visit,” Vivien said. “Poor Beauregard.” 

“Played a few games of catch?” 

“Travis introduced me,” Vivien said.

“I haven’t seen much of the himbo,” Chad replied.

“That very well might be why,” Vivien replied, though there was a smile on her face. “He has a way with children.” 

“I thought I would,” Chad said, voice soft. “But I don’t know, now, maybe I just got up in it. I was such a - am such a - perfectionist, I wanted it all to be just right, what did I think I was going to do when it spit up on me? Repainted the walls?”

Vivien smiled. “When they’re yours, it’s different.” 

“Ah, well, I suppose that applies if they’re acquired, as well - oh, don’t look like that, would you want to give some child these brows? You think you know hirsute - this is waxed, Vivien, and thank God I had an appointment in anticipation of the party.” There. He felt a little bit more about himself. “If you had the choice, you’d much prefer Patrick’s genes.” 

“You’re only looking at things outwardly,” Vivien replied.

“I was just as much of bastard,” Chad said. “I drove him to cheat.” 

“We all tell ourselves that,” Vivien reply. “But unless you unzipped his fly and put his dick in her - well, his-” 

“Oh, no, you’re not going to give me the reconciliation talk, are you?” Chad asked, about to turn away.

“Absolutely not. After all, I was the one who decided to take Ben back.”

“Oh, I did that. Again and again. I suppose...he’s good for something.” Vivien shrugged. “I’m sorry I was going to try and steal your babies and then kill them, by the way.”

“This house does ugly things to everyone,” Vivien said. “And for those who were ugly already...You know, do you want to come and meet the baby?”

“Haven’t decided on a name yet?” Chad asked.

“It took us months to name Violet,” Vivien said, and smiled. She had a good smile, a gracious smile. 

None of this was fair, he thought, much later, after he held the tiny baby Harmon and drank tea with Vivien and Moira. He could almost feel Hayden’s eyes on him, but then again, you could usually feel one pair of malignant eyes on you in this house if you were moderately happy. All of it starting with poor, sad Nora who just wanted some ornamental offspring and just couldn’t leave her husband be. All men needed their hobbies, whether constructing conjoined rabbits or microbrewing. Adultery, of course, did not count. 

But that was the big question, wasn’t it? Had the house drawn them here, or was there a compulsion once they entered it? It seemed to have collected a lot of miserable people over the years, but he and Patrick had loved each other, when they had moved in-

“Unless we didn’t,” Chad said, turning, finding himself in the master bedroom. Fitting. 

Patrick was on the floor, sunning himself like he was a cat. He had done this in life, as well, and it was one of the things that made Chad realize he had fallen hard for this man. “No, I did,” he said. He had a faraway look in his eyes - maybe he had taken Tate up on his offer. “I thought I did.”

“Oh, well, of course,” said Chad. “We could get esoteric and philosophical about it-”

“Why do you have to do that?” Patrick asked, pulling himself up, body all lean and graceful. It made Chad’s cock ache - why couldn’t any other homos have wandered in and got killed? Although, maybe the himbo swung both ways - why not broaden your horizons and look for a sugar mama and sugar daddy? 

“So it was the house?” Chad said. 

“Maybe we never would have made it,” Patrick said. “Maybe it was the house.” 

“I suppose we could argue about that for awhile,” Chad said. 

“Does it matter?” Patrick asked. “We don’t need to, anymore. Though we do have awhile.” He glanced off to the side and sighed. “You saw the baby?” 

“He’s so small,” Chad said. “Poor thing. Though he is loved. Of course, so is the little monster next door.”

“Oh, grandma is very, very proud,” Patrick said. “What? Oh. She comes and visits daddy, every now and again. Updates him on the little antichrist’s progress." 

“And you just happen to peek in on it? You just can’t help yourself, can you-”

“Honestly, Chad,” Patrick said with a huff, and Chad could feel that tug - the sense that it was about to end and he would be sent back to the ether, and he shook his head quickly.

“I’m sorry, look, obviously...you’ve got more in that game,” Chad said. “You were violated by him. I just got shot.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, and Chad realized that he had likely seen it - seen Chad reaching for him, his last dying gesture the desire to be closer to Patrick. Chad looked away.

“Well,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Patrick replied, and it was Chad who walked away then - just like he had, that afternoon in the nursery. It felt good, liberating, almost. He still had somewhere to go.


End file.
